Echoes Of Three Cradles Poem by Emeka GOC

Echoes of Three Cradles


A world of clay, a world of code,
Three newborns on a shifting road
The Ninety Child awoke to string,
To dial-up tones and analogue spring.

The Ninety Child knew open skies,
Before the screens eclipsed their eyes
Free-roaming hours, unmonitored play,
Where boredom shaped the plastic day.

Remember the blackboards and chalks
School sandals and uniforms stained with chalks
They watched the digital dawn arrive,
Adapting late to stay alive.

The Twenty child met sudden walls,
In isolated, locked-down halls.
A childhood shaped by screen and mask,
Where virtual learning became the task.

They watched the old world fracture fast,
And bore the weight of crises past.
The twenty-Five is born to glass,
Where algorithms grade the class.

An AI cradle, tracked and scanned,
A future built as parents planned.
A shrinking peer group, older home,
Within a hyper-connected dome.

One watched a slower world unfold;
One felt it break; one finds it sold.